


you were lost

by iamnassau



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, not graphic but for the record there is:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau
Summary: Flint has no fucking idea what Silver is doing. What he even thinks he’s doing. His second “daily address” went about as well as the first one. Now he thumbs at a few parchment notes with reluctance, and yes, he’s going to try it again. Twice he has not learned his lesson.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Madi/John Silver (background)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 97
Collections: Black Sails Gift Exchange 2019





	you were lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illgiveyouallofme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgiveyouallofme/gifts).



Flint has no fucking idea what Silver is doing. What he even thinks he’s doing. His second “daily address” went about as well as the first one. Now he thumbs at a few parchment notes with reluctance, and yes, he’s going to try it again. Twice he has not learned his lesson.

“If you’re trying to impress me, it isn’t working,” Flint tells him, although it isn’t wholly true. He is impressed at how little an apparent sailor can know about sailing, and that Silver is in fact capable of using a compass.

The man sighs as if the beatings he receives from the crew are minor inconveniences, and stands to take center-stage in the mess. Flint raises his brow at the sauntering steps he takes to reach his non-existent pulpit.

It begins like it usually does, with a weather report and a few resigned groans from Silver’s audience before he gets into more pressing matters. Flint, despite his better judgment, had thought that grown men wouldn’t entertain his gossip, but it seems Silver’s estimation of their maturity was accurate. Dooley is quick to blows, dropping the smaller man without pause. Flint winces.

But when he staggers back to his feet, they’re listening.

This one is undeniably worse, and Silver’s beating corresponds with the seriousness of his accusation. The crew member kicks him while he’s laid out on the floorboards, hard enough to bruise, at least knock the breath out of him in the best-case scenario. Flint nearly stands to exchange blows with the goat-fucker, since it appears that Silver can’t do that for himself. (And it’s no wonder; he wasn’t able to fight the Spaniards effectively, not to mention that his frame must be one of the smallest among the men.) But he realizes that he’s still disgraced, and that to get into a brawl would only hurt his chances for captaincy. As the man hauls Silver up by his hair, Flint’s stomach twists, despite reminding himself that Silver too will be better off in the long run if he doesn’t cause a scene.

He briefly wonders when he began taking Silver’s interests into account. 

Then the crew is raucous with insults and laughter, and Silver is left alone as the other man is harassed by his mates to what seems like no end. Flint has no interest in it. Instead, he watches the corners of Silver’s lips pull back, revealing blood-stained teeth, into a satisfied smile. His gaze darts over to Flint for- what, approval? Even more surprising is that it’s given to him freely. Flint snorts incredulously and offers a curt nod, meeting his wild eyes in a rare gesture of respect. He’s proven his plan to be effective, something that Flint wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t witnessed it.

Later, after a whirlwind day, he sees the beginning of a solemn evening. The ship’s company associates Dufresne’s name with a bad taste in their mouths, and then he’s captain again before the night is through.

He’s thoroughly studying his new cabin and its contents when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in.” Silver peeks in first, almost as if afraid to enter, but quickly recovers with a sly smile, closing the heavy cabin door behind him.

“Congratulations, Captain. I’m glad I can call you that again; Mr. Dufresne was a stickler about my habit, but I don’t think I could accept him as a-“

“Take your shirt off.”

A pause and a soft frown. “Beg pardon?”

“You have a bootprint on your chest, for fuck’s sake.” Flint huffs and approaches Silver, who has gained a sort of blank, dumb look on his face. His sleeve is speckled with blood, and there’s a dried line of it still under his chin. “You can’t wear this.”

Silver gives a little shrug, but his breath is shallow from pain. Flint’s heart twinges with sympathy, despite having a damn good case as to why he shouldn’t feel anything for the thief. “I don’t have much else to wear. That striped shirt took quite a beating too…”

“Be mindful not to strain yourself so much, and you can take one from here for the time being.” He turns away, both to find a shirt in the cabinets he’d snooped in earlier and to indicate that he’ll hear no argument. A sigh emanates from behind him, but a rustle of fabric tells him Silver is complying. When he goes to hand off the garment, he’s frozen at the sight of Silver’s mottled torso.

Silver delicately snags it from his hands, glaring. “You know, Captain, I have been beaten before.”

“I’m not surprised,” Flint retorts, and Silver goes curiously silent at that. He doesn’t let the moment linger. Having found a tin of comfrey salve in the desk drawer, he passes it over as well once Silver has the shirt over his head, wincing a little at the stretch. “Take this and use it.” He wants to do the job himself, but that would have dangerous implications, and he doesn’t feel up to analyzing his actions after such a day. Even so, his inspection pauses at Silver’s collar bone when he’s too busy tucking the oversized shirt in to notice where Flint’s eyes are. So maybe he still has some soul-searching to do.

A more cheerful smile plays at his lips now, and he pockets the salve without protest. “Yes, Captain.” At this point, the shit is clearly mocking him, but it feels warm, affectionate. “Anything else?”

Flint’s eyes flick up to meet his. “No. If you would excuse me, Mr. Silver, I do have a course to plot.”

“Of course, Captain. Thank you for the provisions.” He doesn’t stay long enough to see Flint pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

When Silver returns the next afternoon to loiter while he meets with De Groot and Dufresne, he smells faintly like dirt and lavender- an oil probably used to combat the comfrey’s strong scent. Flint doesn’t smile, or make a comment, or inspect Silver head-to-toe the way he wants to, but it’s a near thing.

-

The next time Silver is injured, it is something that not even he can fix. Much like the other things taken at Charlestown, he has no remedy for it.

He thinks that Miranda wouldn’t want him to cry, not for her, but out of regret and shame for everything he hadn’t done. But he never listened to her concerns before, and it’s all pointless without her anyway. Silver is unconscious for the next week, and the crew steers clear of his cabin. Flint has the freedom to weep for as long as he wishes. 

The week is not a long enough mourning period, but he has a ship to run, and John Silver is back in the world of the living. He greets the other man with good news, bad news, anything but discussion of what he’s done, what they’ve unleashed. Flint hates to admit it, but he’s happy to see him, to speak to him again.

And the first piece of information Silver offers him is that the location of the gold has been betrayed to another crew. Flint detects something dishonest in the explanation almost immediately- which part of it, he doesn’t know- but Silver hasn’t even the courtesy to look sorry about it.

He storms out with this revelation, anger fresh and renewed as he reports the account to the crew on behalf of their bedridden “quartermaster”. He reminds himself that they don’t know what a lying shit they’ve voted in and works himself up all over again. Miranda gone, Charlestown gone, Gates gone, the gold gone, and a fucking urchin left in their stead to convalesce in Flint’s cabin.

After days of taut silence between them, Silver spending the whole of it staring into space or looking at Flint when he thinks the other man won’t notice, there is a gentle interruption while Flint is writing in the ship’s log.

Silver clears his throat. “Uh.” His voice is rough with disuse. Flint pauses in dipping his quill. “Captain, would you mind getting a book from the shelf for me? Any one is fine.”

There’s something in his words that just makes Flint more enraged, perhaps the propriety of his request, or the title.

He makes his way to the shelf and picks at random, a heavy leather-bound book that could be handwritten for all he knows. He carelessly tosses it toward Silver, with more aggression than is truly deserved, before pulling his chair out to continue working. Then he hears a gasp. 

Unwittingly, he twists to look, concerned even now, and he sees that the book is sliding off of Silver’s lap and down between his thighs, positioned just so that Flint can imagine one of the book’s corners had clipped his bandaged leg. He opens his mouth to apologize, to hastily explain that he wasn’t trying to hurt him, but all that comes out is a thin, panicked noise. And it’s only fitting that he can’t say it, as he knows that he wasn’t trying  _ not  _ to hurt Silver either.

The man clutches at what remains of his left leg, eyes welling up at the pain, shoulders heaving as he waits for it to pass. The tears finally begin to fall when he screws his eyes shut, and Flint wants to shoot himself.

“I’m sorry, I-“ He takes a step closer, and is interrupted by Silver sobbing. It’s when his grip on the stump loosens that Flint realizes that it isn’t about the book or the pain anymore. He sits down facing the window, silent, repentant, as Silver beats his fists against the window frame and cries in a way he’s never seen a man cry before. Like it’s being ripped from him, like the wailing itself hurts. 

Flint is quiet, listening for men above and below to make certain that Silver can have this private moment. Not for pride, but for him to be able to perform for no one. That this should not become another stage for others to look upon when he’s in such agony and turmoil.

He rubs his eyes raw while the tears seem to almost choke him. He must have no qualms with such a display of emotion- or more likely, Flint thinks unbidden, he can’t stop himself. It takes forever for it to subside to a more controlled weeping and finally to silent tears, when he begins to regain his breath. Silver’s chest still rises rapidly where he leans against the window frame, but as it appears to calm, he slides down so his head can rest on the cushion below. 

It’s only now that Flint reflects on what Silver wanted from their relationship: freedom. Guilt rises in his throat at the thought. Between losing Miranda and remembering how he goaded Silver into loyalty to the crew, tears prick at his own eyes. He has much to regret, it seems.

Silver’s slack hand, the one closest to Flint, trembles after he’s tired himself out. He thinks the man might have just brought his own fever back, and he reaches out to the clammy palm unthinkingly. Silver almost recoils, but he quickly replaces his hand on the seat after flinching away. Flint takes it between his own fingers and presses his lips not to Silver’s skin, but close enough to warm him somewhat.

“Christ, I’m so sorry.” For the book landing on him at the wrong time, for reminding him of this helplessness and the feeling of imprisonment, for asking him to secure votes, for going to Carolina in the first place.

Silver sniffs and swallows thickly, almost nodding off after his episode, but awake enough to know whose hands are on him. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?” He keeps his eyes closed, and his voice is nearly inaudible. He can’t manage a smile, but he hums when Flint encircles his wrist, at least tolerating the contact.

He doesn’t answer, unable to see how they could ever come as a pair after what Flint has done to him. And more than that, with the weight of the gold on their minds. He’s unable to see anything in their future but war and destitution.

Silver falls asleep then. Flint releases his hand and positions it at his side before moving the book to lean against the glass. He feels as though he’s preparing a corpse, pulling the blanket up around Silver’s limp form and gently dabbing at his wet face. Then he sits back and watches the man breathe until the sun has vanished beyond the horizon.

What have they done?

-

It takes everything in him not to wrap his arms around Silver, and  _ squeeze.  _ Only the presence of the bearded guard dog of a man stops him from following through. It’s a curse that their chances of being alone will only dwindle further after the battle to follow.

Somehow, they’ve both managed to rise from the dead.

Flint can’t take his eyes off him as they walk, Silver hobbling on a crudely-made crutch in the sand beside him. He squints so that it should look like he’s simply avoiding the sunlight. If Silver notices, he doesn’t say anything. And Flint is certain he hasn’t noticed. He would have commented on it by now, probably to tell him to keep an eye out for rocks that the crutch might snag on. It’s unjust that he can read Flint so well and yet cannot see Flint’s nearly senseless love for him. 

Silver’s eyes find Madi, and he stays back to allow them a private reunion, but he averts his gaze as their lips meet. He knows well enough it’s not for him to see. 

During the fight, Flint is still watching him, ensuring Silver’s safety above his own. He tells himself that it’s only because of his awareness that Silver is the future of these pirates now (whether he wanted to become that or not), but it’s never so simple. He watches Hands slaughter Rogers’ captain, and horribly, he realizes that he envies the man for receiving a go-ahead from Silver. God help him. All the same, the governor’s mansion is theirs, and Nassau is teetering on the brink of safety.

The sky darkens until all they can do is prepare for tomorrow. When they’ve all but rehearsed the expected attack on the governor when he arrives, when they’ve taken stock of their losses and acquisitions, most everyone returns to their places as if nothing has happened at all. The only indications of turmoil are bullet holes strewn about, tattered banners on the streets, and a few men sent to camp out on the beach and keep watch. It still amazes him, how quickly a tide can turn.

Silver is restless as they finish up what they can; he taps his fingers on the governor’s desk as if they itch for something more to do. Flint stands from his perch at the dilapidated window sill to console him.

“We would do well to get some sleep before dawn,” he says gently, cupping the other man’s shoulder. “Where will you and Madi be staying? Where has she gone anyhow?”

He’s almost startled out of a reverie. “Yes, well. She’s catching up with Eme. I doubt they’ll join us until late tonight, if at all. I… don’t know where I’ll sleep.”

“Why don’t you come up to the guest room and lie down?”  _ You’ve been on that crutch all day,  _ he doesn’t say, but the implication is there, as well as the threat that Flint might drag him up if he refuses. Silver wisely nods, and the stairs creak with their combined weight as they ascend to a far-off corner of the mansion. It’s a small room that looks incomplete, with lavish bedding but old walls and furniture. Flint had been looking forward to sleeping in a stationary bed again, but he gestures for Silver to take it instead. He sits down in an armchair in the corner, close to the bed’s headboard.

Silver blinks but takes the offer. They’ve grown close enough, Flint realizes, that this situation does not strike him as strange. His crutch falls gently to the floor once he sits (with a hushed sigh of relief, as usual), and Flint stares at him.

“What?” Silver’s eyes are full of mirth as he looks up from unlacing his boot. Like he knows what, or like he doesn’t want to know. “Something wrong?”

Playing stupid again. But no, he isn’t. He genuinely doesn’t know what’s wrong- Flint can hear it in his tone. There’s nothing smug there, just innocently amused by what he must think to be Flint staring into space.

“No. Nothing wrong.”

His smile softens around the edges. “Are you sure, Captain?”

Flint is not a praying man, but if he was, he’d be praying for God not to let him give himself away. But he isn’t, and God doesn’t do shit for him. “Yes, I’m sure. We’re both alive, aren’t we?” Silver nods in understanding before his mouth betrays him. “You’re alive,” he says in the silence.

“I am.” Silver’s lip quirks up, almost in confusion.

Flint removes himself from the musty armchair and slides down to his knees. They’re only a few feet apart anyway, so he shuffles closer to push Silver’s hair out of his face, tuck it behind his ear. He doesn’t smile or laugh or duck away like Flint expects him to. Instead his hands go to splay over either side of his captain’s face, and he studies Flint’s expression. For what, he doesn’t know. “You’re alive and sitting here with me.”

“I know.” Not that he’s alive, but he knows what it means for Flint to say such a thing. “I know.” Then he leans in until their breaths mingle and shudders, eyes closing involuntarily. “It’s alright,” he whispers, near inaudible, and Flint can’t help himself as his palm trails to cup the small of Silver’s back. 

Their lips meet chastely with rigid apprehension at first, before Silver urges him forward, palms pressing flat below his cheekbones as they come back together with more conviction. Flint sucks the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, grabbing at his hips uselessly until he has the leverage to pull Silver flush against him. 

“You fucking scared me,” he says when they pull apart for air. His voice breaks traitorously. “When I thought I’d never get this, that you’d never know… Fuck.”

The corner of Silver’s lip tugs up as if to form a smirk, but his eyes are so earnest as he presses tight to Flint’s chest. Being able to not just see him again but also to hold him like this is a privilege. “Captain,” Silver starts, but Flint captures his lips again before he can say anything else, and the way they both clutch at each other suggests he doesn’t mind the interruption. His hands go to Silver’s curls, gently tugging and settling to cradle the back of his skull.

Silver breaks the kiss and tilts his head back into the touch. His eyelashes flutter briefly, and Flint is enthralled. 

“Madi knows, doesn’t she?” Silver nods as well as he can while still reclined, and Flint mouths at the hollow of his throat. “And she doesn’t mind sharing?” 

“What do you think?”

He pauses, considering. She had given him a look on the beach when they were waiting for John to turn up as the injured man found in the water. Almost like she wanted to say something to him and hadn’t. Flint isn’t sure he would have been able to hear her out then anyway. He withdraws from Silver just slightly, ignoring his reedy whine at the loss of contact. “I think I should find her in the morning and have a chat.”

Silver nods with a barely-suppressed smile. “And I’m sure she’ll be amenable to it. I have a feeling it will be shorter than you’re expecting.” Flint swats at his knee and stands as Silver huffs a laugh.

“Move,” he instructs, sitting at the edge of the bed. His coat came off a while ago with the warm night breeze picking up, but now he removes his boots as well, Silver’s hands splayed over his shoulders while he waits for the other man to join him.

When Flint turns about to face him, he’s absolutely besotted. Silver, reclining luxuriously in the governor’s guest bed, hair hanging loose and wild, his chest smooth and tan and freely on display under the low-cut neckline of his shirt. His heart aches, and at the same time, he wants to fucking jump Silver more than anything. 

“What?” Silver asks, trying to meet his eye with a small, nervous smile. Flint stares at him openly and tilts Silver’s head up to give him a kiss, which quickly becomes filthy. He lets out a soft moan as he opens up for Flint’s exploring tongue, and then an exhale when they separate.

“Nothing. I like to look at you.”

Silver says nothing to that, but his cheeks darken as he lowers his head onto the feather pillow. While he tries to find the edge of the blanket for a hiding spot, Flint stands to lock the door. This one, luckily, was not busted during the initial raid of the governor’s mansion, as the door was already wide open. While he doesn’t think anybody knows which room he’s sleeping in (and nobody would have reason to barge in), he’s not going to take the comfort of privacy for granted.

Once he’s back in bed and under the thin white sheets- probably marring them with whatever grime is left on him from the day- he thumbs at Silver’s cheek with no small amount of adoration.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to think about what I’d become.”

“Then don’t,” Silver replies quickly, touching his forehead to Flint’s. “Think about what we’ll do together now. What we’ll do after all of this is over.”

After. He nods. He hadn’t thought about after, hadn’t thought about surviving this war. But now he finds that the idea of having a life with Silver, finding the peace he’d sought for so long- it is tempting. The desire to follow Silver wherever he goes, mixed with the hatred of this new legend, is strong enough to make him tremble.

Silver places a hand over Flint’s where it cups his face. “It will be finished someday. We’ll not find our end when that day comes.”

Flint nods and holds him tight, as though he might float away, until Silver goes lax in his arms with sleep. His own rest eludes him, but he finds he doesn’t mind.  _ After all of this is over _ . The same images play in his mind over and over, of a cottage in the countryside with four mugs on the table; Silver being scolded out of the kitchen, and a warm breeze filtering through unbroken windows.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me @ awretchlikeyou.tumblr.com
> 
> this was super fun to write and i hope it's enjoyable to read too??? love some angsty boys


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